“Hush, Chief!” The Anguishing, Joyful Power of Silent TV Episodes | Television

TBear’s third season doesn’t start with a bang, but with a slow, simmering silence. The return of the culinary dramedy was eagerly anticipated, especially since it won six Emmys earlier this year. The anticipation was higher than ever, but like a stubborn Chicago chef, creator Christopher Storer changed the menu and refused to serve anything predictable.

The new series upends expectations by opening with a 37-minute, nearly dialogue-free collage of its hero’s gourmet resume. Flashbacks to Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto’s (Jeremy Allen White) past jobs show what made him the perfectionist chef he is today. We watch him shell peas, juice blood oranges, truss free-range chickens and fillet Japanese fish. He labels things with green tape, picks micro-herbs with tweezers and meticulously scrubs surfaces. Oh well, he must keep his muscular arms in shape somehow.

As his former boss Dave Fields (the very handy Joel McHale) cruelly tells Carmy: “Never repeat ingredients.” Similarly, Storer trades the banging, screaming and pressure of the first two seasons for something low, slow and contemplative. Rightly so, it left many fans speechless.

The episode, titled Tomorrow, becomes a patchwork of vivid memories and pivotal dishes, accompanied by a Nine Inch Nails soundtrack. The few words that pass include “Less is more,” “Subtract,” and “Quiet, chefs!” Without the usual verbal pyrotechnics, viewers can tune in to the background hum of grief and trauma as Carmy metaphorically presses the knife wound on her hand. As is often pointed out, there aren’t many laughs in this dramedy.

At times, the episode feels like Netflix’s Chef’s Table or a souped-up M&S advert (“This isn’t just food porn, it’s food porn from The Bear”). It’s sumptuously shot, impeccably acted and really quite beautiful. Carmy has always been the strong, silent type.

The Bear Losing His Roar isn’t the first time a TV series has gone without dialogue. It’s a TV tradition that dates back to a typically eerie 1961 edition of The Twilight Zone called The Invaders. When lead actress Agnes Moorehead read the script, she asked the director where her part had gone. There was only one line in the entire episode—and it wasn’t even hers.

When long-running TV shows do a wordless episode, this one is often hailed as one of their best. The silent-movie heist farce A Quiet Night In is regularly voted one of Inside No. 9’s best episodes. Equally acclaimed is Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s Hush, in which the demonic Gentlemen steal the voices of everyone in Sunnydale. It was written by Joss Whedon in retaliation for critics who said its witty dialogue was the best thing about the show. He made sure that no one said a word for 27 minutes.

Only Murders in the Building won an Emmy for its episode told from the perspective of a deaf man in Apartment 6B, drawing viewers into his world via ambient soundscape and sign language. As OMITB director Cherien Dabis said, “When dialogue is not a factor, you really have to think deeply about visual storytelling.”

Conspiracy thriller Mr. Robot hit the mute button for a ninja-style heist episode 405 Method Not Allowed. The rebooted X-Files did a Black Mirror-esque story with Mulder and Scully dining in silence at an AI sushi restaurant. BoJack Horseman spent an entire episode underwater, unable to speak. Until he realized he could have done it all along and his last words were, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Inspired by Lost in Translation, it turned out to be one of the most poignant animated episodes of all time.

It doesn’t have to last an entire episode. A single nonverbal scene can turn the tables and remind us that silence on television is golden. The centerpiece of the Happy Valley finale was that six-minute, wordless sequence from “Peeping Tommy,” where a desperate Tommy Lee Royce sneaks into the home of his nemesis, Sergeant Catherine Cawood, while she’s dozing in an armchair.

Dramatic silence can escalate tension to almost unbearable levels. In Mare of Easttown’s Silence of the Lambs homage sequence, a wounded and unarmed Kate Winslet flees from a serial rapist in an intense, heart-stopping five-minute sequence. The Line of Duty finale featured a two-minute dialogue-free “Who’s H?” as the corrupt police chief was led to AC-12 under armed guard. It took another seven minutes before the culprit said anything other than “No comment.”

ignore newsletter promotion

after newsletter promotion

Moments of peace and quiet also convey thoughts. In Small Axe’s Mangrove, director Steve McQueen spent 40 seconds lingering over a fallen colander, rolling around on the floor of the restaurant kitchen during yet another unjust police raid, and several minutes on the face of owner Frank Crichlow (a terrific performance by Shaun Parkes), smoking and pondering his fate as a reluctant activist.

Michael Chiklis had not one but three wordless scenes in The Shield‘s most memorable episodes: the agonizing 42-second pause before his full confession, the two minutes of guilt as he confronts Shane’s murder-suicide, and the riveting four minutes as he contemplates the reality of his office job. For a show as loud and fast-paced as The Shield , such silence had a searing power.

The scene in American Office where Jim finds out Pam is pregnant is a 40-second scene of pure joy. And the “Say Hello, Wave Goodbye” scene in Master of None is truly heartbreaking: we see Dev’s dejected face in the back of an Uber for three minutes as he realizes he’s missed his chance with Francesca. In the next episode, Aziz Ansari doubled down with an eight-minute silent sequence to depict the daily experience of a deaf bodega cashier—complete with a sign language argument with her boyfriend about oral sex.

The comedy isn’t just about words, either. The Frasier episode Three Valentines included a six-minute solo sequence in which Niles was getting ready for a date. His obsession with the creases in his pants ended up wrecking the apartment. While Eddie the dog looked on, his head cocked to one side, David Hyde Pierce emitted nothing but squeals, growls and whines. He was like a high-end Mr. Bean.

In broadcast media, eliminating audio and emphasizing imagery is a risk that can pay off. Some of the greatest shows of all time have proven that actions speak louder than words. The bear has now joined that elite club. Not so much “Yes, Chief!” as “Hush, Chief!”